


The Significance of Touching

by DawnOfTomorrow



Series: The Significance of Touching Series [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Hashirama loved Madara from the beginning to the end, M/M, Not Fluff, Or did Tobirama misunderstand those two after all?, Tobirama understands a little late, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 07:55:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16698451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnOfTomorrow/pseuds/DawnOfTomorrow
Summary: Hashirama Senju loved to touch others. It was one of the many qualities he held that utterly belied the incredible power he had. Madara had grudgingly born his touches since they had been children, and Hashirama had always been grateful for it.Hashirama loved Madara.Of course, he did – how could he not? Even as a child, he had seen the other man for what he was, for what he would become: A gift from the divine.In the end, Tobirama learns that fatal wounds never heal...but they don't always kill either.





	The Significance of Touching

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part in a series of one-shots that will feature different viewpoints, different angles of the same part of the story. All canon-compliant...let's face it, Hashimada is as close to canon as it could be without the two of them doing it on screen.
> 
> The next parts of the series will DRASTICALLY change the context of this one...so if you are looking for a happy ending, keep reading. ;-)

Hashirama Senju loved to touch others. It was one of the many qualities he held that utterly belied the incredible power he had. A gambler, a drinker, depressed or laughing at the drop of a hat...and no concept of personal space at all.

At the very least, with people he loved, that’s how he acted. Since he loved just about everyone though, that distinction didn’t make much of a difference...at least, that’s how it seemed. Certain people knew that it made all the difference in the world.

Hashirama did, for one, as did his brother. The elder Senju hardly cared about who knew though, so long as one person, in particular, didn’t figure it out...and for all his Sharingan-power, Madara never did.

Sure, Hashirama knew well that the disapproving looks his brother shot him whenever he hugged his oldest friend or brushed their shoulders together had little to do with his dislike of the man himself...but it didn’t matter to him, not really.

Madara had grudgingly born his touches since they had been children, and Hashirama had always been grateful for it. While he drew strength of from his contact to Tobirama, to the village he had founded with, and in no small part for Madara, it was his closeness to the man himself that gave him determination, that gave him the ability to stand tall and use that strength. The ability to stand tall, to take on the world and win, that he drew from only one source.

Hashirama loved Madara.

Of course, he did – how could he not? Even as a child, he had seen the other man for what he was, for what he would become: A gift from the divine. His gift from the divine. He’d never made a particular secret of his feelings either – they were plain for just about anyone to see...except for Madara himself.

Hashirama liked it that way. He liked the status quo they had. He could be as open, as close as he needed to be, and as long as Madara never knew, he wouldn’t be rejected either. Of course, he didn’t doubt for a moment that he would, in fact, be rejected by the man he valued above all others.

Madara loved power, and he loved his clan. Though Hashirama had power, it wasn’t the kind he could give to the other man...and that, to Madara, was worse than having none at all. Hashirama didn’t see it that way though – his abilities made it so that he could meet the man eye-to-eye.

They had faced each other in battle dozens of times. Hashirama loved their battles, but not in the same way Madara did. In battle was the only time his friend would be...open with him, a wild smile on his face and his emotions plain and open on his face. ‘Showing each other what was inside of them’ Madara called it...and Hashirama knew that’s what it was.

He could see inside his friend then, could see the passion, the fire that burned within him always. He didn’t know what Madara saw...but whatever it was, the man always came back for another battle, another challenge, another competition. It was enough for Hashirama...and yet, it also wasn’t.

Losing that was the only regret Hashirama had about their peace...and it wasn’t as if he didn’t get plenty of new things to make up for it. In peace, Hashirama could casually touch him, could wrap his arm around the man’s shoulders – and oh, what a discovery it had been when he had discovered that his friend was several inches shorter. It wasn’t the sort of thing one noticed in a fight, but the way the slightly shorter man fit against him delighted him to no end.

Madara hadn’t shared his delight at the discovery, of course, he’d been angry...but Hashirama had offered him a drink, and that had been the end of that. Besides, Hashirama was under no delusions as to who of them was more dangerous. He may have more power, but Madara’s temper alone was a force to reckon with.

He tried to avoid it, for the most part. Having Madara’s steady attention fully focused on him was a little too intense, a little too vulnerable a feeling...after all, the possibility of him understanding the true reasons for Hashirama’s behaviour with him always existed.

Truly, Hashirama wasn’t even all that different around his friend. He touched him...more. He smiled more fondly, he frowned less. Tobirama noticed. Over the years, he wasn’t the only one. Mito Uzumaki took one look at the both of them and knew.

That particular incident had been one of his...less proud moments. Of course, that day Madara had also been a little more drunk than usual and had leaned against Hashirama a little more heavily than normal, so the newly elected Hokage didn’t exactly have it within himself to be overly bothered by the woman’s realisation, but still. He’d thought he was better than that, but the clever eyes of the Uzumaki-heiress taught him differently.

He’d never much cared for the so-called fairer gender. If nothing else, he admired them for their beauty...and envied them because a woman could rightfully want what he wanted from Madara, but that wasn’t in his fate, and Hashirama was alright with that – even with long hair and loose-fitting robes, the idea of jewellery and fancy hair-dos made him cringe. He was as male as Madara was, and he wanted what he wanted anyway.

No, he preferred the simple things in life, he had no need for baubles, for anything of the sort. All he wanted was Madara...and to see Madara happy. The man didn’t make that easy for him, of course, he never did...but then, Hashirama loved that about him too. He knew all too well that knowing of his feelings wouldn’t make Madara happy, nor would a confession that he desired the man in a far more carnal way than just as a friend.

He had always admired the way his friend had been the first one of them to speak of peace, the first one to plant the idea of their shared dream. It had been Madara’s as much as it had been his own – in many ways even more so. He had had his eyes trained on the Uchiha clan head his entire life, and not once had he seen him show interest in anyone...like that. It just wasn’t in him, and Hashirama accepted that. He’d given him what the man had dreamed about though – or at least tried to.

After all, hadn’t Hashirama immediately accepted his naming suggestion for their village, obvious as though it was? Had not he tried to make Madara the first Hokage? Failing that, hadn’t he offered him to be the second Hokage? And though Madara never knew, hadn’t his heart nearly beaten out of his chest at the thought of their stone faces next to each other, watching over their village forever?

Madara had called him foolish. He took it in stride of course – Hashirama loved Madara and Madara thought he was foolish. It was how things were, how he liked them even. Change was dangerous. Sure, it could bring good things, but it also threatened to take what they had and Hashirama was too greedy, too selfish to even give an inch of the happiness he had.

And Tobirama? Tobirama watched from the sidelines as his foolish brother upset the order of the entire world for their enemy. He watched as his brother laid a village at the feet of a man who didn’t want it. He saw with concern how Hashirama...bloomed at the constant proximity to Madara.

He’d lived with him all his life, he could tell the difference. Were it anyone but Madara, they’d have known long ago, but it was Madara, and he never cared to look below the surface. He just saw the foolish, light-hearted boy he’d met at the river.

Tobirama saw many things, things that even his brother missed. How the man his brother valued above everything tolerated things from the other man he would have killed others for. He watched as he snarled and bit at others but let his brother close. Not with joy or even acceptance, but with...a lack of aggression not typical for him.

He didn’t miss the way Madara grew less and less content. He saw the signs of Madara tearing away from the dream he shared with Madara, saw him slowly untangle himself from the strings Hashirama had tied to the other man, completely without Hashirama seeing it.

Tobirama was torn. He wanted to tell his brother, wanted to warn him that Madara might leave...but the selfish part of him wanted him gone. With Madara gone, a huge danger to the village would be gone too. The children, the ones he himself loved so much, would be safer...and maybe, over time, Hashirama would be happier too.

It wasn’t until after his brother’s death, of course, that he realised how brutally and unequivocally wrong he had been about that. Hashirama had put a sword through Madara’s chest, but ultimately it had been his brother’s heart that had ceased beating that moment.

Tobirama saw, of course – his brother never smiled again after he killed Madara. Oh sure, his face went through the motions perfectly, but there was nothing behind it. He always thought it would get better over time, had assumed the pain would fade, that the wound would heal...

It didn’t. Fatal wounds never healed.

His elder brother married, had children. Grandchildren. And still, he was empty inside. Only on his deathbed had he had the courage to ask Hashirama how he had managed to carry on for so long, like that. Hashirama had laughed, the first genuine laugh he’d heard in years, and had laid a hand on Tobirama’s arm, weak as though he was.

‘To keep alive Madara’s dream’, he’d said, as if that was an explanation. ‘To carry on Madara’s will’, he’d said and Tobirama had figured it out, just as his brother’s eyes slipped shut – Hashirama really was a fool. He’d lived for something that wasn’t real, something he had failed to realise even as he took his last breath...that Madara’s and his dreams weren’t the same, that was he was keeping alive was a fake image of a man that lived only in his mind.

Still, his brother died with a smile on his lips, thinking of the man he loved so much he had changed the world for him...and Tobirama wouldn’t have taken that from him for anything in the world.


End file.
